FOR DR. JACK RUSSEL,
WHO INSPIRED HIS CHILDREN WITH STORIES.
AND FOR MY BROTHER, JACK,
WHO KEEPS THEM ALIVE.
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE: Welcome to Destiny
CHAPTER TWO: Living at the Rest Easy
CHAPTER THREE: No Piano Playing Ever
CHAPTER FOUR: The Way to Wash the Laundry
CHAPTER FIVE: A Boy Needs Rules
CHAPTER SIX: Sunday at the Rest Easy
CHAPTER SEVEN: Theo the Bumblebee
CHAPTER EIGHT: Wishes and Bait Crickets
CHAPTER NINE: The 100-Year-Old Banyan Tree and Other Fun Facts
CHAPTER TEN: The Problem
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Money in a Basket
CHAPTER TWELVE: Grooving to Thelonious Monk
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Dark and Dusty Attic
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Secrets!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Mrs. Johnson Storms the Studio
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Thief
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: What Are Friends For?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: My Fair-Weather Friend
CHAPTER NINETEEN: All the Good-Luck Pieces in the World
CHAPTER TWENTY: Saving Things for Just in Case
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Get Home before the Streetlights Come On
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Family Sticks Together
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Miss Sister Spills the Beans
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Destiny Day
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: The Stage Is Set
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Too Hot to Breathe
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: The Way to Stay in Destiny
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Big Wishes
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Theo’s Dream
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
The crazy lady in seat 2B hasn’t stopped singing “You Are My Sunshine” since the glare hit the windshield three hours ago. Okay, maybe I nodded off for a minute or two. And maybe that’s a line of drool on my chin. But when my uncle punches me in the arm, hard, I jump wide awake.
“Get off the bus, Theo,” Uncle Raymond says, pushing ahead of a girl moving too slow for him. “We’re in Destiny.”
I grab my bags and baseball glove and follow him.
The minute the door opens, heat hits me like a slap in the face. When a whoosh of diesel fumes almost knocks me over, I hold my breath and step onto the blazing sidewalk.
Everywhere, old men wearing shorts, flip-flops, and big smiles grab suitcases. They hug relatives and hustle them off in station wagons. But nobody’s expecting us at this Marathon Gas Station.
Wait a minute. What’s all that slithery gray stuff hanging from the trees? I kick at two brown coconuts littering the ground, squint up at the sinking sun, and shake my head at the banner swinging from one streetlight across to another: Welcome to Destiny, Florida, the Town Time Forgot.
Leaning down to pick up my knapsack, I jerk it away when a tiny lizard skitters under a plant so sharp it could cut off my fingers. I push up the long, hot sleeves of the shirt that was just fine when we left Kentucky early yesterday, and all I can think is Oh man. What am I doing here?
One good thing — I’m tossing the jacket I’ve been sleeping on. It stinks worse than my granddaddy’s hog pen. Not to mention my arms don’t hardly fit in the sleeves anymore.
I dangle the coat over a trash can on the sidewalk. “Too hot for this,” I say.
Uncle Raymond swats at my jacket. “Keep it,” he growls. “Just in case.”
I jam the coat in my bag. Wondering what just in case could ever need a puke-green jacket like mine.
My uncle puts his big tool chest down, unfolds a piece of paper, and nods toward a flowery row of bushes. “Turn down there. Miss Grandersole says her Rest Easy Rooming House is off Main Street.”
He shoves the note in my hand and leaves me on the corner. While he stops to stare at a statue of some old army guy on the town square, I spot the Chat ’n’ Chew Cafe. Next door’s an ice-cream stand! Actual kids eating Popsicles and looking normal. My stomach rumbles at the smell of greasy hot dogs frying and the thought of an orange sno-cone.
I hurry to catch up with my uncle. “Wanna get something to eat?” I ask.
“Supper’s included with our room,” he barks out, then keeps walking.
I wipe the sweat off my eyebrows and look up at a tree thick with leaves. A zillion green birds blink down from a high branch. Whoa! A green bird? Not in a cage? I jump backward. No way am I standing under a flock of pooping birds.
I try to raise my voice above their squawking. “Wait up, Uncle Raymond! You said this was a beach town. Where’s the ocean?”
“Don’t you know nothing? It ain’t no ocean. It’s the Gulf of Mexico. I got no time for dawdling. Gotta get ready for my new job tomorrow.” Uncle Raymond shoots a big rock off the sidewalk with his heavy work boots. “Keep up,” he hollers.
I uncrumple the note he shoved in my hand.
1. Turn left at the stoplight.
2. Go two blocks down Breezy Way Street.
3. Rest Easy Rooming House is on your right, just after the live oak tree.
Sure that I’m being chased by green birds, I scoop up my suitcase just as a loud rumble of thunder shakes the sidewalk under me.
Really, things can’t get much worse in Destiny.
Instead of begging to climb back on the bus and keep riding till we get someplace as cool and normal as the mountains we left, I follow my uncle. We turn the corner onto a street of square houses lined up like Monopoly pieces and stop at the biggest, with a porch wrapped around three sides. I read the sign:
MISS SISTER GRANDERSOLE’S REST EASY
ROOMING HOUSE AND DANCE ACADEMY
“ ‘Dance Academy’? Nobody said we’d be living at a dance academy.” I glare at my uncle. He shrugs and stomps up the stairs.
Ignoring June bugs buzzing the porch light, I notice the sign’s been spruced up with a big pot of my grandma’s favorite flowers. She plants those red geraniums close to her tomatoes. Make that planted. Guess she’s not worrying about flowers and tomatoes at the nursing home back in Kentucky.
Uncle Raymond leans in close to the window, checking his reflection, touching his shirt to be sure it’s buttoned way up under his neck. He looks again, then takes two steps back. “Folks inside eating,” he says. “We’ll come back later.”
Maybe he thinks the people passing mashed potatoes around that supper table don’t want to be disturbed, but my stomach’s still rumbling, and now it’s starting to rain. Pushing aside two pillows decorated with the same sayings Grandma stitched and framed all over the farmhouse, I slump down on the porch glider.
“I’m hungry.” I cross my arms, daring my uncle to leave.
Just as Uncle Raymond turns away, a lady wearing a long flowery skirt swings open the front door. “My stars! You must be Mr. Raymond Gary.” When she sweeps her hand back, about a zillion bracelets jangle, and I jump up. “And Theo. Look at you. What a tall, handsome boy!”
I can’t help it. I smile real big at this lady. Uncle Raymond nods and picks up his heavy tool chest and his old army duffel. We follow her inside.
“Call me Miss Sister. Everybody does.” Her eyes crinkle up in that way that means she’s really glad we’re here. “Welcome to my home. Mrs. Hernandez cooked a special supper for our new guests.”
Good thing I passed up hot dogs at the Chat ’n’ Chew. Fried chicken, biscuits, and those mashed potatoes are piled high. Best meal since my grandmother got too sick to cook almost two years ago.
Before I lick the last taste of peach cobbler off my spoon, Miss Sist
er’s already leading us upstairs, pointing at the pictures lining her hallway.
“My dance recitals, Theo. I offer tap and ballet every Wednesday afternoon and on Saturdays.” She sways a little, flutters her fingers. “Why, you are going to love it here. There’s the ice-cream stand downtown. The Clearview Cinema picture show. And of course, the beach. Have you seen the beach?” She looks back at me. “Nice little place, Destiny. Next month we’ll celebrate the town’s birthday. June 11, 1974 — Destiny will be one hundred years old!”
My granddaddy’s farm was older than that, but I keep my mouth shut.
Miss Sister keeps talking, with me and my uncle walking close behind her. “Lots going on. My dance recital. Baseball all summer. You play baseball, don’t you, honey?”
Maybe I don’t know anything about beaches, but I was All-County shortstop before Uncle Raymond took over. Then Miss Sister’s talking again and moving fast. I pretty much have to jog to keep up.
In the upstairs hall, I catch a deep breath of lemon furniture polish, and a frayed carpet edge almost trips me up. Of course, that’s exactly when a girl with hair like a family of garter snakes sunning themselves on her head bounces out. I catch my balance and smile. The girl does not smile back.
“Hope you enjoy your stay,” Miss Sister’s saying. “Mamie here — she and her mother have been living at the Rest Easy since Mamie was a little bit of a thing, and here she’s about to turn six.”
The skinny girl scrunches up her mouth and points. “I heard you were coming. Hope y’all don’t make a lot of noise ’cause my mama needs her beauty sleep. She’s studying hair and makeup over at the Mister Tony’s Institute and Hairdresser School. She practices on me.” Mamie flips her snake curls around, sticks her tongue out, and disappears into what I guess is her room.
Miss Sister rolls her eyes. “Don’t pay too much attention to that child,” she whispers, then laughs. “If you can help it!” She opens the door across from Mamie’s. “One of my bigger rooms! Make yourselves real comfortable. I’ll see you at breakfast,” and she’s down the stairs.
Frilly white curtains almost cover the air conditioner humming away in a window. Two beds, one just longer than the other, a sink, a tall bureau. I walk across to the closet and drop my knapsack. I turn to the shorter bed in the corner, running my hand across the smooth blue blanket and fat pillow. Let my uncle claim the bed that’s big enough for his long legs. Maybe he’ll stop complaining about his bum knee. Over my bed, there’s a radio on the shelf.
Uncle Raymond opens the window and takes deep breaths, leaning out like he’s trying to escape. “Not nearly the same as the night sky in Alaska,” he says. Without even looking at me, he mumbles, “And this here rooming house is a fancy hotel compared to my little cabin up there.”
I bite my tongue so as not to blurt out that this room we’re sharing’s not half as big as my room at the farm. And the sky Granddaddy and me looked at most every night? Probably prettier than what Uncle Raymond’s always blabbing about seeing in Alaska.
Before I can turn around good, my uncle steps back and starts arranging his undershirts and socks in drawers. He tosses the rest on the closet floor.
“Those are dirty. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Find a Laundromat.”
On the bus ride from Kentucky, my uncle laid out the rules. Yep, I’ll be Washing the Clothes — every Saturday from now until I’m old enough not to have Uncle Raymond bossing me around.
When I reach down to pick up his dirty undershirt, my leather bracelet slips out from my long shirtsleeve. I twist it, fiddling with the snap.
“What’s that?” My uncle’s staring at my wrist.
I hold it up. “Made this with my best friend back in Kentucky,” I say.
“Take that sissified thing off.” He jams another shirt into a drawer. “Get rid of it.”
“Granddaddy didn’t mind.” I push the band farther up my arm, out of sight.
“Things are different now.” My uncle pounds a fist into his palm, over and over while he paces around the room. “Just me and you. You got to follow my rules.”
“Yessir,” I whisper, backing away. I line up my baseball glove and my tattered book, Everything You Want to Know about Baseball Players, on the windowsill above my bed.
I don’t hardly have time to unpack my shorts and jeans. Or put away the fat envelope of school records and other important stuff before Uncle Raymond’s pulling on the ceiling fan cord to cut out the light. Across the darkness of the room, he says, “Little girl next door’s trouble. Don’t go sharing our business around here.”
“I plan to stay as far away from Mamie as I can get,” I answer. But my uncle’s snoring is already starting up.
Then, just when I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear something. Music! Ignoring Uncle Raymond tossing and calling out with a nightmare, I slip into the hall. A door opens, then closes softly. Mamie, snooping. Forget about her. There’s a piano somewhere, and I’m holding my breath listening.
Exactly two weeks ago, May 3, 1974, I was playing “Happy Birthday” to my grandmother on our rickety living room piano. By then, she didn’t remember much. But she sang all the words to that song. And while I was trying to act like it was fine and dandy that my uncle was dragging me away, Granddaddy was bawling his eyes out.
That was the last time I touched a piano key.
My grandparents’ farm? Sold. The old piano went wherever the furniture ended up. And me? Theo M. Thomas? Previously destined to be a famous musician or maybe a big leaguer? I packed my entire life in a suitcase and a knapsack and pretended the uncle I’d never laid eyes on wasn’t swearing we’d never set foot in Kentucky again.
Hearing the music drift up the stairs, I grab the hall banister tight. Every single note waltzes straight to my insides and makes me want to play along.
Okay, so I’ve left behind my friends, my grandparents, and the farm I’d lived on pretty much all my life. My new room’s above a tap-dance studio and next door to a five-year-old pain in the butt. What’s worse, an uncle I don’t hardly know speaks to me mostly when he’s barking out orders.
But before tiptoeing back down the dark hall, I’ve decided there’s one good thing about being hauled off to Destiny, Florida. Tomorrow I’ll find that piano.
The next morning, before the first ray of sunlight beams through the bedroom curtains, I slide my feet out of the covers and inch across the floor. I stumble over dirty high-tops, exactly where I kicked them last night. When Uncle Raymond rolls over, snoring like a freight train, I slip my shorts on. Grabbing my T-shirt off the chair, I creep down the hall.
Downstairs, a door that was shut last night is still closed. But the glass doorknob turns pretty easy. Two deep breaths. Step inside. Shut the door, real quiet.
Wow. I’m looking at the biggest, shiniest piano, smooth and silent in the back of the room. No furniture except a couple of folding chairs in the corner. Mirrors everywhere. This must be the dance studio.
Sitting on the bench, I open up the piano and run my hands up the keyboard. Oh man, every note’s perfect! Turning from side to side, I wink at the zillion faces staring back from the mirrors lining the walls. Faces with dark brown eyes and curly brown hair. All mine.
Hey, you! Wearing a silver sequined suit like that Elvis guy! Girls swooning! Theo Thomas, Piano Player to the Stars. Theo, baby! Whatcha gonna play for us today?
Who’s stopping me? I tap another white key, real quiet. Then a black one. I make up a melody on the high notes, soft and slow. I play it again. Faster. While the music’s in my head, I forget the room, the day, even my uncle. I’m so busy dreaming up melodies, I’m lost inside the big piano.
So I don’t hear the heavy studio door bang open.
“Theo? Boy, is that you?” My uncle drops his tool chest hard on the shiny waxed floor. He storms toward the piano. Faster than I can move, he slams the keyboard cover hard on top of my hands. Not letting on how much that hurt, I stand up and jam my fists into my pockets.
“W
hat’re you doing in here?” he says, so mean and quiet I have to lean in to hear.
“Haven’t played since Granddaddy’s,” I answer, fighting back tears, squeezing my fingers open and shut. “I’m not bothering anybody.”
Uncle Raymond bangs his fist down on the shiny piano, then pulls it back as if it’s burning hot. “Git away from that thing. Right now. It don’t belong to you.”
“Can I ask that Miss Sister lady if it’s okay? I bet it’s her piano.”
“Nobody but a fool wastes time on music. I told you when we left the farm, we ain’t got time for foolishness.”
I look hard at my uncle’s straight-as-an-arrow side part, every single hair in place, hair tonic stinking to high heaven. I stare into those mean black eyes to send him a message. If I touch a key or two, fast and jazzy, if I stretch my sneakers onto those pedal things, maybe then the music will make my uncle smile.
Fat chance.
He turns away, still spitting mad. “Can’t be bothering about this. Got to get to work. My old army buddy, he got me this job. Boss is coming in early to show me the ropes. Least there’s somebody left who appreciates what we both fought for.” Uncle Raymond turns and narrows his eyes. “You need something, ask Miss Grandersole. Be polite about it.” He jabs his finger toward the piano. “Don’t ask her about that thing,” he says, and storms out the door.
I listen for his heavy boots to clunk down the front porch steps. One-two-three. Then nothing. Good. He’s gone. Wait four more beats, then open the piano.
When I finally stop playing, my fingers ache. I rub them together and squeeze my eyes shut. A deep breath of musty music books lined up on the dance studio shelf makes me remember a different piano, almost as big as this, a bench full of sheet music. Way back. Me climbing in a lap and touching soft hands moving up and down the keys.
I play real quiet till the big door opens again and I jump, praying it’s not Uncle Raymond come back. Instead, shiny black shoes click-click across the floor. Miss Sister does a little twirl with her hands spread out and her red hair swirling every which way. “Why, my lands, Theo, you play the piano! Beautiful!”
The Way to Stay in Destiny Page 1
